


Not in the Script

by TheRussianKat



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Director!Enjolras, M/M, Theatre!, Writer!Combeferre, actor!courfeyrac
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:26:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2836316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRussianKat/pseuds/TheRussianKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac just got his first lead on Broadway but the road to Broadway is not always smooth, especially if you're in love with the man who wrote the script. This is a series from the road to Broadway</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. August 15th

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kiyala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/gifts).



> I am SO sorry this is SO late but I had major formatting problems. There are lots more chapters being posted tonight! I hope you like it Kiyala :)

Courfeyrac was terrified. He was also excited and nauseous and seriously questioning his life choices right now. _Oh, who was he kidding? He couldn’t do this!_

_This_ was Broadway. _This_ was his dream. He took a seat on the step outside the stage door wincing as the sunburnt concrete seared through his shorts.

He watched the traffic and pedestrians going on with their lives, ignoring the mental crisis he was currently experiencing.

“I know I said be at the theatre by three,” a voice started behind him “But I didn’t think I had to specify you had to come inside.”

Courfeyrac turned to see a man with golden curls smiling, clearly amused, at his plight.

“I’m in emotional turmoil.” Courfeyrac pouted “I shan’t go in and you can’t make me.”

Enjolras brushed his curls from his face and turned to his ridiculous friend. His mouth turned into a frown though his eyes remained light “Ferre will be upset.” Courfeyrac looked away, knowing where this was going. “And he’ll do that thing where he acts like he’s not upset but you know he is and he gives that really disappointed sigh and you’ll feel awful…” Enjolras trailed off, bumping the smaller man’s shoulder. “Come on, he misses you too you know?” And without giving the other man any warning dragged him to his feet and began pushing him through the open door.

He reluctantly trudged through the foyer and into the main theatre where everyone was gathered on the stage. The familiar faces were few and far between but he could see a few of the old Amis scattered among them.

Bahorel was in the center, head and shoulders above the others helping two of the stage hands move scenery. Then there was Joly walking around with what appeared to be a clip board no doubt taking note of all the health and safety risks and precautions with Bousset by his side. Jehan was stood with a small group who Courfeyrac assumed to be the dancers, each were laughing as Jehan went through what Courfeyrac knew to be old routines.

At the foot of the stage though was the person Courfeyrac had been looking for. He was bent over various files and papers his glasses balanced on the end of his nose and his sleeves rolled up revealing full sleeve tattoos.

_I can do this_ he thought as he walked down to the stage trying to ignore his heart throbbing in his ears _I can do this._

“Courfeyrac?” Combeferre looked up from his papers, grinning at the other man as he pulled himself up from the floor.

_I can not do this._


	2. August 19th

“Has anyone seen our choreographer?” Enjolras shouted as he entered the dance studio. It was almost 9am and rehearsals had been due to start at 8am. A flurry of shaking heads answered the directors question causing the blonde to huff and throw his head back in frustration as he took his phone out for the fifth time that morning and tried the number Combeferre had given him for the less than punctual choreographer.

As he waited for an answer, the large double doors to the studio banged open accompanied by the tingle of a ringing phone. A man, no more than thirty, walked in. His face was hidden by a mess of wild black curls and he was dressed in a battered old track jacket, slightly better shorts and had an old leather backpack slung over his shoulder.

The new arrival went straight to the table in the corner of the room holding the stereo and water, he dropped his bag beside it and threw his jacket on top. The man appeared oblivious to the ringing phone and the murderous glare being sent his way by Enjolras instead electing to take out his iPod and start connecting it to the stereo.

“Excuse me!” Enjolras shouted from the other side of the room now approaching the stranger “This is a closed rehearsal.”

“I should hope so,” the stranger replied his voice gruff and friendly “I do like people wandering into my sessions uninvited,” he took a bandana from his pocket and tidied his hair from his face before turning to face Enjolras “I’m your choreogra- fuck.” The mans eyes widened comically as he stared at Enjolras who had gone equally pale.

“Taire?” he said softly before giving a rough cough and adding in a much harsher tone “I wasn’t aware you had been approached for the choreography on this project.”

The man in question shuffled his feet keeping his eyes anywhere but looking at the blonde before him “Yeah well, here I am,” he muttered. Silence hung in the air slowly pressing down on all of them.

“So,” Combeferre began, slowly approaching Enjolras “Grantaire it’s great to see you again, why don’t you make a start? Enjolras, a word outside?” with that said energy seemed to flood back into the room; all the dancers hopping up and beginning stretches whilst Grantaire moved to his place at the front of the class pointedly not watching as Enjolras and Combeferre left the room.

Grantaire was just flicking through the iPod once more when a hand tapped him on the shoulder, startling him out of his reverie. “I didn’t realise you were on this too!” Courfyrac said excitedly pulling the other man into a hug.

“Yeah,” Grantaire laughed awkwardly whilst he happily returned the hug “Let’s see how long it takes him to ask me to leave shall we?

The smaller man surveyed Grantaire for a second as he pulled out of the hug “He won’t ask you to leave. Didn’t you see him? He was practically speechless, you’re good for him. He couldn’t ask you to leave even if he wanted to.”

A small but sincere smile spread on the dancers face and he gently clapped Courfeyrac on the shoulder nodding his silent thanks. Then as the moment passed and the music began he turned to Courfeyrac and pushed him back into the center of the room shouting “Everyone better be ready to sweat, because Apollo will want perfect and that’s what I intend to give him!”

 

* * *

 

 

Meanwhile in the corridor Combeferre was trying to calm down a suitably pissed Enjolras.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was him?” he hissed, purposefully keeping his back to the door as Grantaires first routine began.

“Because if I told you, you would never have let me hire him,” Combeferre said calmly.

“Montparnasse was free wasn’t he?” the blonde argued, his voice now coming as more of a whine.

Sighing Combeferre removed his glasses and polished them with the hem of his jumper “Montaparnasse is all jazz hands and high kicks, you know that. And before you suggest it; Mabeuf retired early last year due to injury and Brujon has a list of convictions so long neither of us, in any reality, would actually hire the guy.R is the best, you of all people know that.”

Enjolras did know it, and just because he didn’t like it didn’t mean he could let the show suffer. So he sighed, nodded and followed Combeferre back into the studio.

 

* * *

 

 

They watched the rehearsal for almost three hours before Grantaire called for a ten minute break.

Courfeyrac was impressed, though he was panting, sweating and aching in places he didn’t know existed, he had to admit Grantaire was phenomenal. Every move was pinpoint sharp and flowing seamlessly into the rest of the routine. But the man didn’t seem to run down; the cast were all in various states of exhaustion but the scruffy haired choreographer was now doing pushups at the front of the room, and it looked like he was the only one to have noticed.

He smirked as he watched Enjolras try and fail to tear his eyes away from Grantaire broad physique, stifling a laugh when the blonde tried to take a sip from his sealed water bottle, eyes still focused on the other man.

“Do you think this was a horrible idea?” a voice sounded behind him. Combeferre was stood worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and running his finger nails up and down the constellations inked across his arms.

“What?” Courfeyrac asked perplexed.

“Enjolras and Grantaire, making them work together? Is it an awful terrible horrible idea?” the spectacled man asked again running a hand through his neat hair, the dark skin getting lost in the black strands.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Courfeyrac said softly, smiling as he took the other man’s hands “It was a brilliant idea. R is the best choreographer I think I’ve ever met and Enj, well, he’ll get over it. Seriously you couldn’t have done this better.”

“Honest?” Combeferre questioned, looking over his glasses.

“Always,” Courfeyrac laughed going for a hug before stopping and blushing, giving a small apologetic smile “I don’t want to get you all sweaty,” he mumbled.


	3. October 13th

Courfeyrac was bone tired. They were on their eighth day of non-stop rehearsal and he didn’t think he had been this tired in his life.

It was only 8pm but the sky was already dark and the occasional spot of rain could be felt teasing for a full storm. He was still a good thirty minutes from his flat when the sky finally opened, drenching him in a matter of minutes.

Grumbling he trudged along, keeping his eyes on his feet. Then all of a sudden it wasn’t raining. _Except it was._ Because he could _hear_ it and he could _see_ it, but he appeared to be blessedly protected.

He looked up to find a blue umbrella above him, following the stem down to the hand of the owner he found Combeferre smiling at him, looking substantially dryer and more comfortable than he felt.

“Follow me,” Combeferre said using his free hand to grab Courfeyracs. Not wanting to leave the dry shelter he had found he followed without complaint.

It was a short walk, much shorter than the one he would have had to take to his flat, and they soon reached their destination; a small terrace house with a shamrock green front door and large brass knocker. Combeferre quickly unlocked the door and ushered him in, the dry warmth of the house embracing him like an old friend.

“Let me take your coat,” Combeferre insisted as he started to pull the sodden wool weave jacket from the smaller man’s shoulders “I’ll go put this in front of the heater, why don’t you go warm up in the living room, I’ll be through in a minute.”

Courfeyrac nodded dumbly as he was left alone in the hallway, overly conscious that his t-shirt was sodden through and clinging to him like a second skin.

Running a hand through his hair he made his way into the lounge, smiling when he saw the gently crackling embers of the burnt down fire.

The wet fabric of the t-shirt was beginning to make his chest itch so without much thought he pulled the t-shirt off leaving him shirtless. It was this sight Combeferre was met with when he returned with a dry shirt and jumper.

“God you’re hot,” he muttered as he watched Courfeyrac stretch the kinks from his back.

But to his horror, Courfeyrac heard him “Sorry?” he squeaked as spun around to see Combeferre stood in the doorway.

“You’re…hot? You must, err, be too hot right? That’s why you, um, well you took your shirt off. It means it’s too hot. In here. For you,” Combeferre stumbled over his words trying to focus on something, anything other than Courfeyrac’s damp glistening chest.

“Oh,” Courfeyrac replied, pretending his heart hadn’t sped up when he thought Combeferre had thought he was hot, because that would be ludicrous. “Kind of cold actually,” he gave an awkward laugh “are they for me?” he asked pointing to the bundle of clothes in the other man’s arms.

Combeferre looked down at his arms frowning before remembering the reason he had come into the living room in the first place. “Yes,” he breathed “Yes they are, sorry,” he hurriedly put them on the coffee table before quickly backing out of the room “I’m going to make some soup,” and with that said he left the room.


	4. December 24th

Combeferre felt like someone was boiling his intestines and punching him in the gut at the same time.

He knew he should be focusing on everyone on stage, making sure every action, word and emotion was portrayed correctly. But no matter how he tried it felt like he had been force fed burning razor blades and they were twisting in his gut.

“-ferre? Combeferre?”

He looked up to see Enjolras in the center of the stage shouting to him. “Sorry, yeah?” he answered feebly.

The blonde stared at him for a while, his blue eyes narrowing. _He knows something’s wrong_ a little voice whispered to Combeferre.

“Enjolras thinks this entrance should be moved,” Courfeyrac shouted “But it deviates from the book, it’s your choice Mr Writer!”

Combeferre stared at his two friends; Enjolras was now openly frowning at him whereas Courfeyrac was flicking through his script talking to Bahorel and Feuilly pointing to different set pieces. The beads of sweat of the back of Combeferres neck were now seeping into his shirt collar.

Carefully he pulled himself up from his seat. The world swirled and babbled around him as he took his first steps towards the stage. His gut was fire, the razor blades churning and scraping with every step.

He whimpered as the bile began to rise up his throat. His final step up the stage came short sending him crashing to the floor into wonderful oblivion.

 

 

Courfeyrac was panicking. Combeferre was in hospital. Combeferre was in surgery and no one knew anything.

He looked around the waiting room, spotting Enjolras at the far end of the room his head in his hands. He had tried speaking to the other man but had failed get anything more than a rejection of coffee out of him.

Bahorel and Feuilly were both napping in two of the plastic chairs, Feuilly’s head resting precariously on Bahorel’s shoulder.

Joly and Bousset were at the nurses station in pediatrics trying to convince Musichetta to sweet talk her colleagues into letting them know exactly what was happening. They had yet to report on progress.

After almost two hours of waiting the doors burst open and Grantaire stumbled in looking thorough worried and windswept. “I just got your voicemail, what happened?” he asked breathless, eyes flicking to Enjolras who remained alone in the corner.

“His appendix burst and he hit his head pretty hard when he fell, he’s in surgery now. They said they’ll tell us how he’s doing as soon as he’s out, but-“ Courfeyrac choked on the word falling back into his chair.

“Hey don’t worry okay, it’s Ferre, he’ll be fine. Stay positive, that’s why we keep you around you know?” Grantaire joked pulling him into a one armed hug.

Courfeyrac gave a wet laugh, punching the dancer on the arm “You’re right, he’ll be fine, he has to be,” he said smiling softly “He’s a fighter, that’s why we love him.” _That’s why I love him._ Grantaire gave him a final hug before getting up and walking towards his fallen Apollo.

He gently placed a hand on the blondes shoulder causing him to jolt in surprise, staring at Grantaire with wide frightened eyes. “Are you okay?”  the dancer asked softly, moving his hand up and playing the loose strands of hair that had escaped the messy bun.

For a moment neither of them did anything, instead electing to use each other’s eyes to communicate. Then Enjolras stood up and simply allowed himself to be pulled to the other man’s chest. Enjolras was not noticeably shorter than Grantaire, there was barely an inch in difference, but the small difference allowed Grantaire to cradle the other man, holding him completely.

 

 

December 25th

 

It was 3am when they were finally given the all clear and told they could visit Combeferre, on the basis it was one at a time.

Courfeyrac was the last to see him, finding excuses for all the others to go first so he wouldn’t have to worry about spending too much time in there.

Combeferre was propped up on with four pillows and candy pink blankets covering his waist. There were bandages wrapping his forehead, hiding the six stitches and beneath the sheets Courfeyrac knew there were vast bundles of bandages holding together the stitches from the surgery.

“You couldn’t just get an appendicitis like a normal person could you? You had to go and be dramatic about it didn’t you,” Courfeyrac joked as the other man looked at him through heavily lidded eyes.

Combeferre gave a raspy laugh before saying “Couldn’t let you guys have all the fun could I?” this was followed by a long yawn and it was becoming increasingly obvious he was on the brink of sleep.

“Why don’t you go to sleep?” Courfeyrac suggested, taking the seat beside the bed “I’ll stay until you wake up,” he finished, taking one of Combeferre’s hands careful not to touch the IV line coming out of it.

Combeferre was already dozing but gave a sleep “kay,” before drifting off completely.

“Merry Christmas Ferre.” Courfeyrac said quietly, placing a kiss on the back of the sleeping man’s hand.


	5. February 19th

“If I wanted to see it performed like that I would have asked you all to forget everything you know about dancing and pretend to monkeys on steroids!” Grantaire shouted “This is not difficult! We have been doing this for weeks and now none of you remember the basic tango footwork?”

The room was silent as his words echoed off the walls. Grantaire as a rule did not get angry. But this was his fourth sixteen hour day in a row and despite showing each individual member the footwork one on one most were still stumbling through it like baby giraffes and he was losing his patience.

Enjolras watched, leant against the wall, he agreed with Grantaire; it was sloppy. Had he not seen them perfect far more complex routines earlier in the production he would have thought none of them had danced professionally in their lives. They had to shape up.

“I mean really? I saw more passion on the ceiling than I saw in that routine!” Grantaire continued to rant catching Enjolras’s eye. It was then that the choreographers eyes twinkled with something the blonde hadn’t seen in a long time, something that made his chest ache. “Apollo, front and center if you will!”

Complying Enjolras moved into the center of the studio floor, throwing a quizzical lance to Grantaire as the other man took one of the violins from the band store at the back of the room.

Combeferre looked up as Grantaire held out the violin for him. Cautiously he took it “What exactly would you like me to do with this?”

The grin on Grantaire’s face grew slightly “Remember that number you played for the senior showcase in high school?” Combeferre nodded “If you could but perhaps slightly faster?” Combeferre shared Grantaire’s smile as he realized the choreographer’s intention before nodding the affirmative.

“Okay Apollo,” Grantaire began again, walking back to the center of the room and standing opposite Enjolras. He held out one hand and winked when the blonde took it before pulling  the other man to his chest and arranging them into the correct pose for the tango. “I trust you remember the footwork?” he asked, his mouth close to the blondes ear and his breath tickling Enjolras’s ear sending shivers through the blonde.

Enjolras nodded.

“Perfect! Then let’s do this, Combeferre if you please?”

The tango itself was an inferno. Each line and step was faultless, the partners in perfect sync. Grantaires possession and ferocity entangled with Enjolras’s elegance and fire kept them transfixed. Had Courfeyrac not been so certain they were fully clothed he would have sworn he was watching two of his best friends having the hottest sex he had ever seen right in front of him.

But it was the musician truly captivating Courfeyrac. Combeferre was the picture of poise, stood at the sidelines playing the violin and coaxing delectable sounds from the instrument, his fingers moving nimbly over the strings as the other hand made beautiful broad stroke with the bow.

Then it was over.

Everyone staring at the couple in the middle of the studio, chests panting, bodies pressed together and eyes locked. Both men gave a near imperceptible nod before slowly breaking apart.

“And that,” Grantaire panted “is how it is done.” 


	6. March 20th

Courfeyrac was decidedly not panicking. He was sat at the end of the stage, feet dangling off the edge, looking out at the sea of empty seats before him.

“Are you panicking?” a voice asked from the wings.

Not turning around Courfeyrac replied “Just…questioning.”

Combeferre laughed and sat beside him, bumping his foot with his own “What are you questioning?”

“How far I would have to run for Enjolras not to find and murder me for skipping out on opening night.”

“Unless you have a submarine or something I think you may be in trouble, hell hath no fury like Enjolras,” Combeferre laughed once again bumping the smaller man’s foot with his own eliciting a soft chuckle and a smile in return. “You’ll be great tomorrow Courf,” he said, taking the other man’s hand “You’re phenomenal.”

Courfeyrac looked up from their hands and was suddenly very conscious of how close they were sitting, how their sides were almost pressed together and he could feel the warmth emanating from the other man. But more than this he noticed how exceedingly beautiful the other man’s hazel eyes were and how his lips were just close enough that if he did wish to lean across slightly he could steal a kiss, and if Combeferre would let him, maybe a thousand or so more.

But as they closed the distance a shrill alarm filled the air causing both to jump away.

 

Once they had gathered outside and it became apparent Bousset had managed to break the fire alarm. Combeferre went to look for Courfeyrac but he was nowhere to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter will have to be posted tomorrow, I am really really sorry but I saved it all to post today but my laptop reformatted everything and has decided Copy-Paste and not things it is willing to do so I had to retype these from word documents. The last chapter will be poster before 10pm December 24th 2014 though - I promise


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